


Castiel One-Shots

by alloftheorangejuice



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel One Shots, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:33:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5055871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alloftheorangejuice/pseuds/alloftheorangejuice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here is a collection of Castiel One-Shots and short fics. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Someone to Love

                “This isn’t like before, Castiel!” you shout and hurl a glass ashtray across the hotel room.

                It hits the wall with a resounding _thud_ and shatters over the nightstand.

                Cas grips the bedding in his hands as he sits, bolt upright, on the edge of the hotel bed.

                “This isn’t, like, another guy because he’s just the _next guy_ , you know? Because he’s _not_ the _next guy_. He’s the goddamn _sixty-fifth_ guy that is leaving me because I’m a freak! An absolute, goddamn, _freak_!” you screamed.

                “Y/N…”

                “What? What, Castiel? Are you going to tell me, again, that I’m not a freak? That I’m a perfectly normal human being because, as you say, I eat, shower and feel pain? Like that somehow makes me the same as everyone else on this godforsaken planet?”

                At this, you realize Castiel’s jaw clenches. He averts his eyes and swallows, but tries to compose himself.

                “It’s not—“ he starts. “It’s not… forsaken…”

                “Whatever,” you lament and walk across the room to _fwump_ down into the dusty armchair.

                “I’m just…” you start, trying to bite back the sting in your eyes. “I’m just tired of trying to open up when all I get is shitty feedback about who I really am inside. I mean—am I really that unlovable? Are my weaknesses, are my _flaws_ really all that bad? Is it so bad that I can’t really, _truly_ be loved?”

                You hear yourself speak and you know you’re being dramatic, but you don’t really care at this point. Venting feels good. It feels like a release, and after an hour waiting for your new possible date to arrive and then receiving the official you’ve-been-stood-up text, you were 100% done.

                “I just don’t understand…” you say.

                When your eyes finally wander back over to Castiel, his hooded lids are slanted and his blue eyes are large and saddened. Something in them makes your insides stir and you shift your eyes across the room quickly.

 _If everyone I get close to rejects who I really am, the last thing I need is for Castiel to see all this—all this_ shit _inside of me. I might as well just start killing off friends…_

                “Y/N…”

                “Please…” you say, dropping your head to cradle it in your hands.

                It’s only a moment before you hear the bed creak, the floor creak, and then the chair next to you slide across the Berber carpet floor. Then, there is a hand on your shoulder.

                “I don’t think,” Castiel starts, “you understand what it means to be in a loving relationship.”

                For some reason, this is not encouraging to you. Instead, it feels like a jab, like you are too young to understand anything real. You’d had enough condescension for your entire life already and you certainly didn’t need anymore.

                “Really, Cas? I don’t know what it’s like to be in a loving relationship?” you mock.

                “Yes. Human love is…”

                “Complicated,” you finish, eying the long fingers of the hand on your shoulder.

                Castiel pauses for a moment before nodding. “Yes.”

                You nod, too, but somehow this feels like a horrible surrender and you feel a hot slip down your left cheek. You’re grateful that it’s the side opposite of Castiel and you make a quick move to wipe it away.

                “A loving relationship, a true, loving relationship is about being open, and understanding a person’s makeup, including their flaws, and accepting them for it. Have you…”

                Castiel stops, seeming to doubt the benefit of continuing…

                “…have you ever had that?”

                You pause, eying a splotchy stain on the carpet.

                Have you, you think? Have you really ever met anyone who accepted you for the things you hated about yourself? For all the things you told yourself in your head that wasn’t okay? For all the things that kept you awake at night? For all the things the demons would say if they could get inside your head and know exactly what to say to bring you to your knees?

                You slowly shake your head.

                “No,” you say.

                You hear Castiel sigh.

                “Y/N…”

                You turn to meet his face, only a few inches away. He is leaning towards you, his body heat radiating off his strong, angelic frame. He moves his hand from your shoulder to your cheek.

                “Y/N, you have to understand that there are people out there that will love you for what you are, for _who_ you are, and that all this— this sixty-fifth guy means is that he isn’t good enough for you. He doesn’t understand just how beautiful and intriguing you truly are. That is all.”

                You can feel his thumb scratch across your cheek. It’s warm and feels like it could move mountains with a single swipe.

                “Castiel…” you whisper.

                “Y/N, don’t despair. Please. I… I hate to see you in such a state.”

                You glance down at Castiel’s lips and chastised yourself. _Not now_ , you thought. _He’s trying to be nice. Don’t fuck this up, Y/N._

                But something inside you feels like it’s about to snap and it feels like that something would be the end of some type of hope you aren’t ready to lose. So… you do something stupid. Terribly stupid.

                “Do you love me, Castiel?”

                The words slip out of your mouth like a Sunday morning. They just happen and then they’re gone.

                His head tilts and his eyes narrow.

                “I… I do, Y/N.”

                “You do?” you say, now unable to hold back the sniffling tears that threaten to make tracks down your rosy cheeks.

                “But… I have to admit,” Castiel started. “I don’t… I don’t understand your flaws. I don’t understand why you change your clothes and then become upset about your body. I don’t understand why you always whisper those words of discouragement to yourself at night. I don’t… I don’t understand why you talk negatively about your future. You are…” Castiel stops and you swear, you swear, he glances at your lips. “You are more than you think. You are… you are someone to love, Y/N.”

                For once, you don’t worry about what you look like when your lips tremble, or how your tears stain you cheeks a translucent black. You just look at Castiel until his image blurs with tears and then, when he comes over to kneel before you, you lean into him, letting your weight be held by the angel—your angel, the only being you’ve ever known who thinks you are, over everything else, truly someone to love.

                And when you grip the collar of his trench coat and finally stop sobbing into his shoulder, you lift you head to meet his eyes, and find that the swirling blue eyes are telling you everything you ever needed to hear without speaking a single word.

                He leans forward, looks at you with those eyes, and kisses you, softly, with all his love.

 

               


	2. Run Me Like a River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You try to convince Castiel to leave and help Dean, but Castiel seems confused. And when you tell him that you're okay, healthy as can be, that he can leave, Castiel leans in for something you thought he was reserving for someone a bit more righteous than you.

Before he could form a rebuttal, I pressed two fingers to his mouth. It was only after my brief attempt at a showdown stare when I let them fall away that I found his lips riveted, like tributaries over a desert plain.

 

“ _Go_ ,” I said.

 

“Why?”

 

Castiel’s voice felt from God himself, booming in the silence of my dark studio.

 

But God never asks why. He _is_ why.

 

“Because Dean needs you,” I spat.

 

I spat it out with all the tension I’d absorbed over the last two weeks while I watched the two of them dance motionlessly within each other’s presence. I’d watched Castiel’s eyes linger on Dean like a poor man’s thoughts on salvation, saw Dean balk and turn away, pink-faced, after Castiel spoke to him in a voice lower than the same poor man’s feet. Then later, both of them detached, wandering, hands occupied.

 

“I came here,” he started, “to make sure—“

 

“—that I was okay, right? I appreciate it, Cas. I do. Here I am,” I said, flapping my arms once in vitality. “Healthy as a… as whatever is really healthy. And I’m fine. _Go_.”

 

But instead of the relief I expected to wash into his near-black, shadowed eyes, his brows sloped in a pain that I’d never see him wear. Suddenly, he looked less like a God, and more like a tired family man, shoved into a suit not blue enough for his reflection.

 

“Cas—“

 

And then he grabbed the back of my head, one hand of strong fingers clutching both dark hair and fear, and kissed me.

 

I’d always thought that the movie characters who gave into an unsolicited kiss for a heavy moment did so for fan service, that it was just the writers doing what they could for more reviews with the word _sexy_ in their title. _I’d have them pushed away before their lips even touched mine_ , I’d think with a knowing smirk on my face, clicker in hand. _They’d never even have the chance._

 

But the more I kissed Castiel, the more I felt the spark of lust that flicked on my tongue morph into a siren song that threatened to bring me to my knees in prayer. The sweet dichotomy that was his chapped, but soft lips, his dominant, yet tenderly innocent touch, and his blossoming desire for intimacy at just a few million years old…

 

My hands locked into his misshapen hair, tufts of black bursting from between my fingers in my unraveling. My shoulders had hunched up, pulling my face and frame as close to his as possible to smell his feathery cinnamon scent, feel his warming skin. I licked at his tongue, and he licked mine. His teeth pinched the crest of my bottom lip as he tilted my head back to reveal my neck. Then, another kiss, another brush of his thick knuckled thumb over my cheek.

 

I wanted to drink until every last tributary was dried up, until every last drip that could pour from his mouth had dripped to quench my thirst. I realized that not all those on-screen rendezvous were unsolicited, and that maybe, this one wasn’t either.

 

But it was when his hand fell to my left shoulder in a passionate want that a different realization crept into my unspooling thoughts. Something about the placement of his fingers on the round of my arm prompted me to release my grip on him with an exaggerated gasp.

 

He jerked back immediately; his shoulder blades angled back in recoil as if his wings had sprung up in alarm, drawing with them a gust of wind that stole what I needed for my lungs.

 

“No, I’m not—“

 

It was all that fell from my tired tongue.

 

I touched my mouth, surely red and casting a swollen shadow in the prisms of grey moonlight.

 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, eyes slanted in panic, hair in complete disarray.

 

“No. No. Castiel, you are…” I started, dropping my hand from my mouth to my heart and taking a return step back towards the moonlit angel. I searched for the words I wanted to say—the words I needed to say. Because Castiel wasn’t mine to have. As much as the spark we held could flame to ignite the very ground he protected, it wasn’t my place. It wasn’t my right.

 

He wasn’t my angel.

 

With the bristling electricity of love and adrenaline still glinting on my skin, the only thing I found it in my heart to say to the paralyzed seraph was nothing more than what I’d said moments before, with all the sincerity and peace a poor man can muster to pray.

 

“Castiel, Dean needs you.”

 

“But Dean—“

 

“ _You_ need the courage,” I said, gathering my own, “to tell him not to be afraid to need you, too.”

 

His squint slackened and he took a startled breath from the feathery air that blanketed the space between us.

 

For a moment, I thought he was preparing for a remark, or that he would explain to me something that he thought would be as big a revelation to me as the Revelations themselves, but that was something I’d known all along. Or give one of his famous smirk-and-nods. Or, heaven forbid, weep.

 

But instead, he just stood there, eyes gleaming wet over his skin still damp with lust. And when I looked to the moon for a instant to find its full grey body so high in the sky I had to tilt my chin to take it in, I heard the lightest of all sounds that felt the heaviest on my heart.

 

_Whump-whuff._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, guys! As always, Kudos are incredibly appreciated, and if you have any feedback, a comment always makes my day. :)  
> I leaned a little more toward a literary style in this one, and I liked the way it turned out. Tell me what you think!
> 
> If you like my work, you can also follow me on Tumblr, at 10strawberryjam. Cheers!

**Author's Note:**

> If you can, please comment and leave Kudos! (Even if you're Anon!) It makes me feel really good to be recognized for my writing. :) Many thanks!


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